


Touch

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [28]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Massage, Roommates, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke finally convinces Bellamy to let her give him a massage.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Clarke having to give Bellamy a massage and it turns him on and for some reason she also has to massage his front and she sees his boner and sex happens.

Clarke has changed her mind more times than even she can remember about what she wants to do with her life. When she was six, she wanted to be a ballerina. She changed her mind when she realised every other girl in her dance class wanted to be a ballerina too. Too boring. Then she wanted to be a dog walker, and then a sky-diving instructor, and then a teacher, and a doctor, and then an artist, among other things. She can’t remember every whim she’s almost chased.

Her mom thinks she’s ridiculous at this point. She’s twenty-six and still doesn’t have the faintest idea what she wants to do. Abby had never pushed her to follow medicine, but her mother’s enthusiasm when Clarke followed that path for herself was undeniable. Abby was disappointed but still supportive when Clarke ended up switching her major to art.

But now, Clarke has realised she prefers art as a hobby, rather than a career path, and she’s back to square one. Her latest endeavour is massage therapy. The course goes for six months, and she’s four months into it, and so far, she’s really enjoying it. All her friends are enjoying it too, since she wants to practice on them all the time. According to them, she’s pretty good at it.

It’s only Bellamy who won’t let her touch him. Which is offensive, really, but she’s trying not to be pushy about it, because he must have his reasons. He claims he just doesn’t like massages, but Clarke is sure he’s never even had one before, so how would he know?

He’s home from work late again, as he has been all week. He’s been working way too hard lately, trying to get the house he’s working on at the moment done before the arbitrary deadline he’d told the client. He claims it’s the only advantage above the other building companies in town, that he actually gets things done when he says he’s going to. Clarke is pretty sure his work is _better_ too, but he’d never admit that.

Clarke looks up from her sketchbook as Bellamy walks into the living room. She’s sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, on her third attempt at trying to draw Chris Hemsworth’s left eye. It just won’t go right.

“Hey,” she says. “I was wondering, do you want to eat before we go out, or just get something there?”

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans, lowering himself onto the couch. “I forgot we’re supposed to be going out. Why are we doing that again?”

“Jasper got promoted and wants to celebrate.”

“Right,” Bellamy says.

“You don’t want to go, do you?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I’m exhausted,” he says.

“We don’t have to go.”

“You can go, don’t let me stop you.” He looks pained. He shifts on the couch, trying to get comfortable, frowning the whole time.

“Bell,” Clarke says. “You’ve been working too hard lately. You’re always stressed. And your back is obviously bothering you.”

“What’s you point?”

“I can help you with that.”

“Clarke—”

“Everyone says I’m really good at it! And it’s not like I’m going to charge you. I just like practising. I’ll be really professional, and you’ll feel so much better afterwards. I promise.”

Bellamy squints at her. She bats her eyes at him, pleading. “Okay,” he agrees. Clarke forces herself not to squeal in delight. “But I want to shower first.”

“Yeah, I was going to suggest that anyway. You stink,” Clarke jokes. Truthfully, she finds the whole _sweaty and dirty after a long day of working hard_ look kind of hot. On him, at least. Most looks are hot on him. She shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, seeing as he’s finally agreed to let her massage him, and she just promised him she’d be professional. Professionality does not include ogling the clients, even if the client is her best friend and roommate. Maybe _especially_ if the client is her best friend and roommate.

Clarke jumps up from the floor. “Okay, you go and shower, and I’ll set everything up.” She grabs his hands and pulls him up from the couch. He groans the whole time.

Clarke pushes him towards the bathroom, then goes to her room to get the things she needs. She invested in her own massage table a few weeks into the course, figuring it couldn’t hurt, even if she never ends up starting her own business like she wants to.

She sets the table up in the living room, gathers a bottle of oil and a towel, and puts on some soothing, instrumental music.

She hears the water shut off five minutes later, signalling Bellamy getting out of the shower. She sits on the couch, fidgeting nervously. She hadn’t realised she was nervous until this very moment. She supposes it’s because she’s been bragging about how good she is for months, and now she actually has to prove it.

“Clarke?” Bellamy calls from the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“What should I wear?”

“Whatever you feel comfortable in,” Clarke calls back. “I mean, less is probably better. I won’t look.”

“It’s fine, I’m wearing clothes,” Bellamy says, walking into the living room. He just has a t-shirt and boxers on, and his hair is all wet from the shower. Clarke stands, watching him as he walks over and tugs his shirt over his head. Her heart hammers wildly as she tries not to stare.

“So should I just—” Bellamy nods at the table.

“Yeah. Yes,” Clarke says, tearing her eyes from his chest. So much for being professional. “Lie down on your stomach, please.”

Bellamy gets onto the table, lying face down. Clarke places the folded towel over his backside, more for her own sanity than to protect his modesty. He seems to have no qualms about being almost naked in front of her.

Clarke rubs her hands together to warm them up, then squeezes a circle of oil onto her palm. She rubs it into her hands, and it fills the room with the scent of lavender.

“Okay, just relax,” Clarke says. “I’m going to make this really good for you.” She flushes at her choice of words, thankful he can’t see her face.

Her hands hover over him for a moment before she touches him, pressing her palms across his skin, down his back and then up again, across his shoulders, the way she’s been taught to in her course. He feels tense as hell. He’s holding probably years worth of stress and tension in his muscles.

“How does that feel?” she asks him, already feeling him start to relax.

“Good,” he says. “Really good.”

She rubs his back, his shoulders, his neck, trying to focus on her technique, rather than how much she likes having her hands on him. He’s mostly silent as she works, but she does hear a couple of quiet moans escape from his mouth, and the sound gets her so worked up she has to stop for a few seconds to compose herself. She’s thankful he can’t see her blush.

It takes her longer than usual, but she eventually finishes massaging his back.

“Okay, turn over,” she says.

Bellamy opens his eyes. “Turn over?” he repeats, warily.

“So I can massage your chest.”

“You—you want to massage my chest? Is that something you do for everyone?”

Clarke shrugs. “Not everyone. But I can tell you need it.”

Truthfully, if he says he doesn’t want it, it will probably be a relief. Half of her is desperate to have an excuse to touch him some more, and the other half of her knows she won’t be able to handle it.

“Um,” Bellamy says. Clarke is sure he’s going to decline. It’s probably too weird, right? “Okay,” he finally agrees. “Just—give me a second.”

“Okay?” Clarke says. She waits while he lies there for a few moments.

“Can you turn around?” he asks.

“Sure,” Clarke agrees, although she’s not sure why he’s suddenly so modest. He was fine with her seeing him in his boxers half an hour ago. She spins around so her back is to him, and then she hears him shift on the table.

“Clarke—” he starts, and Clarke figures that’s her cue to turn around. “Wait!” he says, but it’s too late for that. Her eyes have already fallen on his erection, which he’s now desperately trying to conceal with his hands. Her eyes widen, and her cunt throbs.

“Oh,” she says dumbly.

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans. He’s sitting up, and he quickly grabs the towel and covers his crotch with it. “Sorry. Sorry. I thought it might not be noticeable.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke says quickly. Her face is burning, but she does her best to reassure him anyway. “It’s totally normal.”

“Really?” he asks uncertainly. “It happens a lot?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re relaxed, and it feels good, right? It’s bound to happen.”

Bellamy nods, still clearly embarrassed. “Still,” he says, then swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“We don’t have to stop,” Clarke says. “I promised I’d be professional, and I still can be. If it doesn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

“I mean…” Bellamy tilts his head. “If it doesn’t weird you out too much.”

“Of course not,” Clarke says. Weirded out is so not the right term for it. Turned on, maybe. “Just lie back. And tell me if you want me to stop.”

Bellamy lies down again, and Clarke glances at his crotch. The thin towel does nothing to hide the fact that he’s hard as hell. Clarke gets a little thrill knowing she did that to him.

She tries not to think about it as she rubs oil across his chest. She’s really trying to be professional. But if she’s not thinking about his hard on, she’s thinking about how nice his muscles feel under her hands, and how much she wants to lick his chest.

She glances down his body again. His cock is still hard. It’s big, she can tell it’s big. She’s never thought of herself as someone who cares about size before, but god, if the size of him doesn’t get her pussy throbbing, imagining his whole length inside her. She wants to put her mouth over him, see how much of his cock she can take down her throat.

She knows when the massage is over, he’s probably just going to go to his room and jerk off. Will he think of her? Or is it just the massage that he’s enjoying so much, and the fact that it’s her hands on him has nothing to do with it?

“Clarke,” he says, opening his eyes. “I need you to stop.”

Clarke drops her hands from his chest. “Does it not feel good?”

Bellamy sits up. “No, it feels good,” he says. “That’s, uh—that’s kind of the problem,” he flushes.

“Oh,” Clarke says. She’s sure he doesn’t miss her glance at his erection again. “Sorry.” She bites her lip, wondering if she kept going if she could make him come without even touching his cock.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the table so he’s facing her. “For the record, this is exactly why I never let you massage me before.”

Clarke eyes him. “Because it’s happened before?”

Bellamy shakes his head. Her won’t meet her eyes. “Just—the thought of you. Touching me. I knew it would turn me on.” He finally looks at her.

Clarke’s breath hitches. “Me specifically?”

“Well,” Bellamy swallows. “You’re always saying how good you are.”

“I’m good at other things too, you know,” she says quickly. “I could, um—help you out with that.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “Is that something you offer all your clients?” 

Clarke shakes her head slowly. “This part is just for you.”

Bellamy hesitates. He reaches his hands out to clasp hers. Clarke can feel her heart racing. “I don’t like the idea of you not getting anything out of it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Clarke says. She sways forward, her lips getting dangerously close to his. “Let me suck your cock.”

Bellamy closes the distance between their lips, kissing her so sweetly she can’t help but melt into him. He pulls away, and Clarke has to take a few moments before she can open her eyes again. “Okay,” he says. “I just had to do that first.”

Clarke grins at him. “Okay,” she says. “Lie back down and let me take care of the rest.”

Bellamy swings his legs back onto the table, and Clarke places her hand on his chest pushing him down. She hoists herself onto the table on top of him, kneeling between his legs. She throws the towel away, her heart thrumming with anticipation. She’s so eager to see his cock.

Clarke pulls his boxers down carefully, and she can feel him watching her. She frees his cock from his boxers, and her stomach flips over at the sight of it. Long, and thick, precum beading at the tip. She squeezes her thighs together tightly.

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” she breathes.

“Yeah?”

Clarke nods. She meets his eyes, then lowers her head, still keeping her eyes on his as she circles her lips around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Bellamy says. He drops his head back, his eyes fluttering closed. “Yes. Put your mouth on me.”

Clarke licks him sloppily, coating his cock in her saliva. She’s enjoying herself too much to focus on technique, but from the response she’s getting from Bellamy, he seems to be enjoying it anyway.

She takes him into her mouth, as far as she can before she gags. His fingers twist into her hair as she stifles her gag reflex and takes his cock deep into her throat. He tugs at her hair, stinging, but spurring her on.

He moans, and Clarke gives an answering hum, her lips vibrating around his cock.

“Feels so good, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I’m not gonna last—” Clarke doubles her efforts, using her tongue to bring him to the edge. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come in your mouth.”

Clarke gives an affirmative moan to let him know he can, and then she feels him spurting into her mouth, his come hitting the back of her throat, and she swallows it down greedily.

When he’s done, Clarke lets him slip from her mouth, then crawls over his body so she’s face to face with him. She leans down to kiss him, mostly just to see if he will, even after she’s just sucked his cock. He passes the test, kissing her back without hesitation.

“Are you relaxed now?” Clarke asks, smirking. She lies down, half on top of him, head on his chest.

“Definitely,” Bellamy says.

“I told you I was good at it.”

“I’m good at things too, you know,” Bellamy whispers. He traces his hand over her stomach, and when she doesn’t move to stop him, he unbuttons her jeans, and slips his hand into her panties. “So wet for me,” he murmurs. Embarrassingly wet.

He rubs her clit, and Clarke opens her legs, rocking her hips against his calloused fingers. He pushes a thick finger inside her, closely followed by another, stretching her pussy wide. She buries her head into his chest, whimpering at the sheer pleasure of having his fingers inside her.

“That feel good?”

“Uh huh,” Clarke nods. He pumps his fingers inside her, driving her crazy with how slow he’s going. “Bellamy,” she moans.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“You do, huh?” he says. He pulls his hand from her pants, and somehow manages to flip her onto her back so that he’s on top of her, without falling off the table. He tugs her pants down, along with her panties, and Clarke pulls her t-shirt over her head, then unclasps her bra and tosses them both aside.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans, drinking in her naked body. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. You have no idea how many times I imagined this.”

“You imagined fucking me on a massage table?”

“Maybe not this exact scenario,” he grins. “But I imagined doing this,” he says, kissing her. “And this,” he moves down to her breasts, and runs his tongue over a nipple. “And this.” He slips his middle finger back into her cunt. Clarke squirms.

“Bell, come on,” Clarke whines. “I did something for you, now it’s my turn.”

“You weren’t just being altruistic?”

“The massage was altruism. The blowjob not so much.”

Bellamy gives a deep chuckle, and Clarke feels it in her chest. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give you something in return. Do we need a condom?”

“Not unless you have chlamydia or something.”

“Thankfully, no.”  

He removes his finger from her cunt, and she feels empty, until he presses the head of his cock to her entrance, then pushes into her. His fingers felt good, but they were nothing compared to his cock.

“Oh my god,” she gasps as he fills her. “God, yes.”

He rocks into her, her thighs clamped around him, and he hits her sweet spot over and over until she thinks she might black out. She hurtles over the edge, coming on his cock as he drives it into her.

He lasts longer this time, and he fucks her through her orgasm, drawing it out as she arches against him, gasping for air.

“You satisfied?” Bellamy pants, clearly on the edge of orgasm himself.

“Not until you come inside me,” Clarke tells him. He groans, and with a few more thrusts he grants her wish, filling her up with his come.

He sags on top of her, only just holding his weight off her. “Fuck,” he says. “That was the best massage I’ve ever had. Very professional of you.”

“Shut up,” Clarke says, giggling.

“You can massage me any time you want,” Bellamy says. He lifts his head, grinning. “Especially if it ends like that every time. Although if it ends like that every time, I’m not sure this is the right profession for you.”

“You just don’t want me to touch anyone else.”

“Maybe. Does that make me selfish?”

“Little bit,” Clarke says. She lifts her head slightly to peck him on the lips. “I can’t deprive the rest of the world of my talents.”

“Is it okay if I ask you if I can be the only one you share your _other_ talents with?”

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Bellamy?” Clarke smirks.

“Would you say yes?”

“Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

 


End file.
